What Was in the Water
by Mandelene
Summary: Arthur and Francis are just two marine biologists trying to make a living, but everything changes when they meet Alfred, a young merman of seventeen. He may be the key to uncovering the mysteries of the ocean. How far will they go for the sake of science?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This was requested by one of my Tumblr followers. It's likely going to be three chapters. Enjoy!

* * *

The beauty of this place never ceases to amaze him. Lemon Creek isn't a creek at all; it's an ancient beach littered with the glacial erratics of the last Ice Age. It's a picturesque fishing spot around this time of the year, but only a few, select locals know of its existence—locals and researchers, that is.

If Arthur were a geologist, he'd be having a ball. The copper colored sand and the drooping terminal moraine taking the shape of a sandy cliff up the shoreline is a phenomenon in and of itself. The rocks and sediment here have been polished by hundreds of thousands of years of high tides and melting ice. Admiring these formations, however, is not why he's here. His interest isn't in the land, it's in the water.

The abandoned, desolate shells of the sea snails being carried in and out of the Atlantic by the lapping tide are what piques his curiosity. The organisms in this shallow water have been dying at an alarming rate, and it's his mission to find out why.

First things first, he's going to need some samples. He collects a bit of the water into clear vials so he can measure the salinity and acidity of it back at the lab. Then, he carefully gathers the snail shells that are still intact and haven't been trampled by the fishermen.

It should be an easy task, but the summer heat is starting to get to him. The atrocious hundred degree temperature is seeping into his skull, and his neck is already coated in a slimy helping of sweat. For a moment, he regrets not listening to his co-worker, Francis, who insisted it was too hot for such research endeavors earlier this morning.

Well, he absolutely _couldn't_ let the old frog take pleasure in being right for once, and thus, he had stomped out of the laboratory with a huff, slinging his bag of equipment over his shoulder without sparing the man a second glance.

And damn Arthur's pride to hell because the sun is nearly blistering him, and the air is humid to the point where it's making it a challenge just to breathe.

Somehow through the haze of dense heat, his nerves tingle with the feeling he's being watched. He raises a hand over his forehead and gazes out into the ocean, but sure enough, he is the only one crazy enough to be frying on this narrow, rock-laden beach. He crouches down to pick up another shell, and that's when he hears a small splash of water a few meters away that sounds nothing like the rolling waves.

He drops the shell he's holding when he sees a honey-blond head of hair break through the surface of the water. Big, round blue eyes blink back at him—blue like the sky—and Arthur all but jumps out of his skin, startled after falsely assuming he was the only one here.

"Hey, there!" the head of blond calls to him. It belongs to a young man no older than seventeen, and he's floating lazily about in the churning ocean, looking quite merry and pleased.

When Arthur's heart rate has returned to a healthy range, and he's aligned his thoughts, he turns to the boy and growls, "You're not allowed to swim here."

"Huh?"

"You can't swim here," Arthur repeats, pointing to a sign farther inland. "There isn't a lifeguard on duty, and the rocks are jagged and hazardous."

The boy stares at him like he's speaking a foreign language before he finally replies, "Oh."

Arthur scoffs and returns to his work, ignoring the boy's gaping and gawking. There always has to be someone who doesn't follow the regulations and has to be a nuisance to the rest of the public, doesn't there?

"What are you doing here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What do you need the shells for?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," Arthur says flatly. As soon as this is over, he's going to head back to the car and get a nice, freezing bottle of water from the cooler he has with him.

"Gee, I was just trying to be friendly, you know."

"I don't have time for friends."

The boy swims a little closer to the shore, but seems to hesitate. "My name's Alfred."

"Lovely. Stop irritating me. I'm quite busy," Arthur snaps. He doesn't mean to sound harsh and rude, but there's something about this boy that's making him uneasy and short-tempered. Part of it, he's sure, is probably due to the fact that he's starting to get sunstroke out here. After a minute, he realizes that he may have been a little unreasonable, and so, he gives a sigh and turns to look at the boy once more. "I'm a marine biologist—that's why I need the shells. Something in the water is killing the snails, slugs, and fish."

Alfred cocks his head at him as a worried look crosses his face. "Is the water unsafe or something?"

"Well, if people have been dumping their trash near here, it's likely that the water has become more acidic, so much so that the organisms can't live in such conditions, but that's yet to be determined," Arthur explains. All of this is second nature to him. This isn't the first time he's dealt with an incident like this. The entire eastern coastline is teeming with similar problems.

"So it's not safe to swim in then?"

"It's fine for humans at the moment. The fish, on the other hand, are more at risk."

Arthur's neck is now a stream of sweat, and he reaches back a hand to wearily wipe at it, not that it makes any difference. He's severely parched now, and even though his body is begging him to retreat to the splendid air-conditioning of his car, his stubborn mind still isn't ready to give up.

"That doesn't sound too good," Alfred remarks, nibbling on his lower lip. "Whoa, you look a little red. Are you okay?"

It's funny—Arthur hears the words but they register as echoes in his mind. Everything becomes a tad fuzzy around the edges. He leans forward precariously, one hand clasped against his head, and just as he's falling, he sees a scaly fishtail bob in and out of the water as Alfred draws nearer to him in concern.

And then, everything is black and silent.

* * *

"Hey, wake up! C'mon!"

A cold blast of water hits him on his nose and cheeks, and Arthur gasps, vision clearing. The thick fog clouding his sight fades, and he suddenly realizes that he's lying supine on the sand, looking up at the flawless sky. His backpack filled with his samples and equipment is beside him, and someone has drenched the upper half of his body in saltwater.

"Finally. How are you feeling, dude? Rise and shine. Can you sit up? Here, lemme try to—"

Arthur rolls his head to the side to look at his savior, and sure enough, the annoying boy named Alfred is kneeling over him and dropping handfuls of cold ocean water onto his face. Except—it dawns upon him that Alfred isn't kneeling after all. He can't kneel. Where the boy should have knees, he has a long, glistening, scaly _tail_. So he hadn't imagined it earlier when he'd collapsed…

With admirable speed, Arthur hops to his feet and backs away from the boy, bangs plastered to his forehead and cheeks still flushed from the heat. He must be having some kind of sick dream. He's probably hallucinating, and the best thing to do would be to try and get back to the car until he cools down properly to start thinking reasonably again. Francis would be laughing at him right now if he were here.

"Slow down! You just fainted!" Alfred protests, using his arms to crawl further up the beach, tail dragging behind him.

"Don't come any closer!" Arthur demands, heart pounding again. It's not real. It's not real. It's not _real_.

Alfred takes the opportunity to be offended and crosses his arms haughtily. "That's not the way to treat someone who just saved you from dying out here, Mr. Marine Biologist."

"You're a—a mermaid," Arthur mumbles, feeling silly.

"Umm, excuse me, but I prefer to be called a merman, thank you very much."

"All right, you've had your fun. Take the costume off already."

"Sorry to disappoint, but there's no costume that you speak of," Alfred insists, wiggling his ridiculous tail for good measure.

This has gone on long enough. Arthur picks up his bag and starts trudging up the beach and toward the road, shaking. He's gone _mad_. It's happened. His mind has officially turned into goo. He's no longer of any use to science. He'll have to give up his job and admit himself into a treatment facility at once before his sanity becomes unsalvageable.

"Where are you going? Don't leave!" Alfred cries out as Arthur doubles his pace. "I-I need someone to—hang on, please! I don't want to be stranded here!"

He makes the final dash for the car and jumps into the driver's seat, turning the air on as high as it will go before leaning back and resting for a moment. His head feels as though someone has been hitting it with a hammer, and a dizzy sensation akin to being out on a rocking boat out at sea overcomes him.

It takes about twenty minutes for him to recover, and when he does, he decides his condition is stable enough to drive. He turns the key in the ignition and is just getting ready to head for the main road when a thought strikes him.

What if he _hadn't_ been hallucinating?

To put his mind at ease, he decides he'll head back to the beach one last time just to make sure there's no one there. Now that he's cooled down and being rational again, it wouldn't hurt to confirm whether or not Alfred truly was some sort of apparition.

He turns the car off and cautiously hikes his way down to the shore again, mindful of the protruding rocks and abrupt dips in the sand. From a distance, he can see that yes, there is someone still on the beach—a limp and unmoving figure. It's undoubtedly Alfred, as his turquoise "tail" is visible even from where he's standing.

Well, great… What is he supposed to do about this? Should he call Francis to drive on over and see this for himself, or should he leave and pretend to be oblivious to everything that just occurred?

This time, he is the one hovering over Alfred. He crouches directly beside the boy and reaches out reluctantly to touch the tail in question. It is remarkably thick and muscular—too realistic to be a costume.

"You're back," Alfred murmurs, lying face down in the sand as though he hadn't expected his return. The dejected expression on his face morphs into something more hopeful, and his blue eyes light up.

"Naturally, I was a bit stunned," Arthur replies, inwardly debating how to go about this. The boy certainly looks uncomfortable, and his tail seems to be flaking a little from being dried in the burning sand. "It's not every day that I encounter a… a merman," he finishes dumbly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought… I didn't mean to freak you out though. I don't bite, promise. Mind giving me a hand? I really should get back into the water."

Although he feels ridiculous doing so, Arthur loops his arms under the boy's shoulders and starts dragging him back toward the tide, letting the water carry him out into the ocean. Immediately, Alfred flashes him a relieved smile and splashes happily about again, shuddering with the refreshing feeling of water running over his skin.

"Thanks, man. That's a lot better. It would really suck if some old lady found me washed up over here and called for help or something… You know, I've never seen a human up close like this before. Isn't that crazy?" Alfred asks with a brief laugh, a playful smirk stretching over his lips. "For a second there, I thought you were going to capture me, but then I realized you don't seem like the type of guy to do that, scientist or not."

Arthur swallows around the lump in his throat and strains a smile of his own. "You should be careful not to have too much faith in me."

"You'd probably get a lot of money for discovering a merman, huh?"

"Undoubtedly."

"So, why didn't you come back with a net?"

Arthur scowls as he considers the question. Yes, why didn't he at least take some photos for proof? Why not tie up the boy and bring him back to the lab for the whole world to see? He could go down in history for something as unprecedented as this.

It's then that he sees, that merman or not, Alfred is still just a boy. A boy who has done nothing to deserve being made a spectacle in a freak show.

"You helped me," Arthur says simply. "It would be in poor taste do such a thing now."

"See? I knew you were cool. What's your name?"

"Arthur."

"That's a good human name. Tell me something, Arthur, what's the world like out there—on the land?"

Arthur smiles dryly and shrugs his shoulders. "Uninspiring at best, I'm afraid. That's why researchers like myself have taken a greater interest in the sea."

"I don't think I could ever get sick of the land. You know what I've always wanted to do? I wanna climb a mountain and stand at the very top, right where the snow is. I wanna know what it's like to be on top of the world instead of always being under it. The ocean's all the same after a while, but the land—it's always changing."

There's an eager yearning in Alfred's eyes akin to intense wanderlust, and Arthur can tell this isn't the first time the boy has considered such ideas.

"You know stuff about fish, right?" the boy asks despairingly, throwing some water into the air with his tail. "Could you maybe…? You wouldn't know how to… Forget it, it's stupid."

Arthur frowns and shakes his head. "You'd better get out of here before someone sees or before I change my mind and take you with me."

"Maybe I _should_ go with you. You could figure out what's wrong with my DNA or whatever and then maybe find a way to give me legs and—"

"I have to go," Arthur retorts dismissively, not liking the direction of this conversation.

He turns away and pretends not to hear the disappointment in Alfred's voice when the boy says, "Goodbye, Arthur. Will you come and see me again?"

"I don't think that would be wise."

The lab is waiting.

* * *

"Have a nice time at the beach?"

"Yes, it was damn well marvelous, if you must know," Arthur tells Francis sardonically as he walks through the doors of the lab. He deposits his samples at his desk and goes into the storage room to get some pH strips.

While Francis is doing god knows what on the computer across the room, Arthur drops one of the pH strips into the water and watches it change color with a hum, thinking.

"Find out anything new?" Francis asks, genuinely curious.

"Well, according to this, all of the fish in Lemon Creek will soon be dead. So much for being a nice fishing spot."

"It's the acidic content after all?"

"Yes. I've also found out that there's a stream dumping contaminated water into the ocean not too far away. Want to guess why the stream is contaminated?"

"There's a waste disposal plant situated on the mouth of it?"

"Precisely," Arthur affirms, narrowing his eyes at the now pinkish-orange strip. "How did you know?"

Francis chuckles and pulls up an image on the computer. "I looked up a map of the area, so I'd know where to look for you if you died out in the sun and couldn't get back. Thirty people in the county have already been hospitalized today for heatstroke."

"You don't say?" Arthur murmurs with half-hearted interest. "I'm going to have to write up a report and send it to the city council, so they can do something about the water pollution. That is, if they ever get around to it."

"I wouldn't cross my fingers," Francis says with great sympathy, already packing up his things for the day. "There's nothing else we can do for now. We'll get a new project next week. If they want to kill the marine life without a qualm, we don't have the power to stop them. There will be other fishing spots we can preserve."

Even though he wishes it were otherwise, Arthur knows there's a dark truth to Francis's logic. They can't get attached or dwell on a single assignment like this. There are bigger problems to deal with, and sometimes, that means the smaller projects get put on the backburner.

Arthur goes home that afternoon with a lingering, sizeable headache. No matter what he does to distract himself—watch T.V, read the newspaper, listen to some music, feed the cat—his encounter with Alfred continues to replay in his mind over and over again. He could have had it all: fame, fortune, success. And yet, he gave it up willingly with hardly a second of thought.

He sits down in the armchair in his living room and turns on his laptop, intending to do a little investigating in terms of mermaid sightings and their frequency. Unsurprisingly, there isn't any scientific information on the subject, and all he has to rely on is folklore, which turns out to be utterly useless and downright inaccurate based on his conversation with Alfred.

But what will become of the boy now that Lemon Creek is being polluted and poisoning the fish? Will he take heed and migrate elsewhere? Is he even able to sense that something is clearly wrong? Should he be warned?

He convinces himself the annoying brat will most likely be all right and decides to go to bed, only to come to the eventual revelation that yes—Alfred might still be in danger, and it's his obligation as a researcher to ensure his safety, no matter how wild and far-fetched it may seem to have to communicate with a mermaid/merman.

He sleeps fitfully, and in the morning, when he takes a second trip to Lemon Creek, the boy is nowhere to be found. The only lifeforms in the area are a few fishermen on the pier who are just beginning to notice that there aren't any fish left to be caught.

* * *

"Something is eating you. What is it?"

Arthur twitches in his chair and forces himself not to look at Francis, not even when the man graciously suggests they head out for lunch. A sense of impending doom in his stomach is growing by the minute, and he doesn't even want to think about food.

"It's nothing."

"Your lies aren't going to work on me," Francis scoffs. "Come along, I'll get us sushi. My treat."

The mere reminder of fish makes Arthur flinch, and he buries his head into the paperwork he's filling out, tensing when Francis puts a hand on his shoulder and tries to coax him away from his desk.

"I'm not hungry."

"Nonsense. You skipped breakfast, too. You're going to make yourself sick, and then who am I going to talk about coral reefs with?" Francis jokes lightly, tugging on his arm. "Don't be stubborn. Tell me what's wrong."

Arthur makes a displeased guttural noise and says, "You'll laugh at me if I do."

"No, I won't. I promise."

"All right." He swallows thickly. "I saw a…."

"A what? A ghost? A loch ness monster?" Francis prompts with a teasing grin.

"A mermaid."

Dead silence. Francis doesn't speak for a full minute, which is a near impossible feat for him to achieve under ordinary circumstances. "I'm sorry, _mon cher_ , I think I misunderstood you. Can you say that again?"

"I saw a mermaid, or merman, for that matter."

Bewildered, Francis presses a hand to Arthur's forehead to check for fever. "Have you been sleeping? When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm not ill, you git! I know what I saw. Why would I lie about something like this?"

"Are you sure you aren't letting your imagination run a little wild?"

" _Francis_ , I'm being serious."

"When did this happen?"

"Monday."

"At Lemon Creek?"

"Yes."

Francis clicks his tongue and glowers. "I need to smoke a cigarette. Let's talk about this over lunch, all right? Tell me everything you know."

And so, Arthur explains his chance meeting with Alfred, the conversation they had, and his subsequent return to help the boy back into the ocean. He leaves out the part about him collapsing from the heat because he figures this information wouldn't go over well with the man, especially after Francis specifically warned him of the dangers of being outside for prolonged periods of time in such severe weather.

By the time he finishes, he's out of breath and more anxious than before, waiting to see how Francis will react. Surprisingly, the Frenchman is calm and understanding, giving Arthur the benefit of the doubt.

"We have to go back there," Francis concludes after much discussion. "If we don't get him in our care, then someone else might stumble upon him and—"

"As long as we're not taking him to the lab. I refuse. I'm not going to let the whole world know about this."

"Fine, we'll bring him somewhere else then. Somewhere isolated. Arthur, you do understand what this means for science, don't you? If what you're saying is true, this is an incredible discovery!"

"A discovery that no one can know about aside from us," Arthur emphasizes, firm. "We still have to follow an ethical code and—"

"But this is _world changing_."

"No."

"Arthur, you have to reconsider."

"I won't. I can't allow you to exploit him."

"Oh, don't be dramatic," Francis sighs. "It wouldn't be exploitation."

"Yes, it would be, and you know it."

"Fine. Have it your way. As much as it pains me, I will hold my silence."

And this is how the project of their lifetimes began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note** : Thanks for the support, everyone! There's one chapter left after this.

* * *

"Why do they call it Lemon Creek? It's not a creek at all! It's a beach facing the open ocean!"

"I'm not the one who chose the name, Francis."

"I know, but it's infuriating! A creek suggests a small river, not _this_!"

Arthur rolls his eyes, grabs his pack, and leads the way down the strip of beach he has come to know quite well during his excursions. Francis isn't one to become outraged often, but when he does, it's always over trivial matters that have relatively little to no significance to the world at large. "When you become a politician, you can change the name to whatever you see fit."

"I plan to!" Francis shouts, fervent. He makes a sour face when the sand nearly scalds his toes through his sandals. "Where is this specimen of yours?"

"He's not a specimen, and it's still a short walk away."

Although he doesn't say it, Arthur is certain Francis is also taken aback by the coastal formations, and it's a damn shame something this magnificent should be so polluted by human actions. They make their way through the varied sediments until Arthur stops at the spot where he'd initially met Alfred. There's no one there at the moment, man or fish, and as ten minutes go by without so much as a single lifeform crossing their path, Arthur can tell that Francis is increasingly skeptical.

"I will find a good psychiatrist for you, _mon cher_. Only the best," Francis swears.

"Oh, shut up. Just give him a few more minutes."

Desperately trying to avoid looking like a fool but failing, Arthur moves closer to the shoreline and shouts, "Alfred!" over the long advance and retreat of the tide. He can feel Francis's scathing glare on his back, but he does his best to ignore it.

And finally, _finally_ , a head of blond hair surfaces, looking at the sandy beach with great wariness.

"Alfred?"

"What is _he_ doing here?" Alfred croaks, voice sounding a little scratchy and hoarse. His tail is well hidden beneath him.

"He's a—" the word 'friend' almost falls from Arthur's lips, but he stops himself just in time and says, "He's a colleague of mine."

"Why'd you bring him? To take me away?"

"No, he's here to… investigate with me. We also wanted to warn you about the toxic water," Arthur explains, face burning with embarrassment yet again. There's something so odd and silly about talking to the young merman. Shame washes over him without permission.

He turns around to see how Francis is reacting to all of this, and, unsurprisingly, the French researcher's mouth is hanging open slightly and his body has become slack. For once, the frog has been rendered speechless. What a twist of events.

"You could've told me a little sooner, y'know," Alfred laments, keeping everything below his shoulders submerged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Carefully, Alfred swims to the shore and lets the tide carry him into the sand, revealing the scaly bottom-half of his body and scaring the daylights out of Francis.

Arthur, however, is more fascinated by the white splotches on Alfred's tail that are making some of his scales flake like dandruff. Of course, after working with marine organisms for years, he knows what this anomaly is. "You have alkalosis."

"Alkalosis? What's that?" Alfred frowns, reaching a hand down to scratch at the spots. He is breathing quite heavily. "They're itchy."

"It's a common disease in aquarium fish that occurs when the pH balance of the water in their tank has been upset," Arthur murmurs, inspecting the splotches with growing bewilderment. "Don't scratch it."

Francis is just beginning to come out of his stupor, eyes glazed with both confusion and awe. He dares to go in for a closer look, and when he runs a hand over the now milky color of Alfred's tail and feels slime rub off on his palm, he agrees with Arthur's initial diagnosis.

"Is this bad?" Alfred asks fearfully, suddenly jerking his tail. He almost manages to hit Francis in the face. "Sorry! I didn't mean to do that."

Francis, bless his soul, merely smiles nervously and brushes off his shock.

"Erratic behavior," Arthur notes aloud, making a mental list of Alfred's strange symptoms. "Are there any other changes you've noticed?"

Alfred thinks for a moment, tail swishing back and forth in the sand because he's having trouble staying still. "Yeah, my stomach feels like it's gonna explode."

"Bloating, then…"

"Am I going to be okay?"

"Yes, everything should go back to normal once you've been moved into cleaner water," Arthur assures him. "We'll have to find a new location to move you to."

Alfred tiredly drops his head on the sand and frowns. "A new place? But this is my home. I've been here for as long as I can remember."

"It isn't safe for you to stay."

"Why not? What'll happen if I stay in this water?"

"You'll… You'll die," Arthur sighs, urging Alfred into a sitting position, so he can breathe more easily. His labored breaths are becoming worrisome. "We can keep you in the aquarium at the lab for now until—"

"No! I'm not going to be part of your freak-show!" Alfred shrieks in protest, flourishing his tail about again. "Let me back in the water! I'd rather die at home than—"

"You're not going to die, and you're not going to be put on display for anyone. Francis and I are the only ones on duty at the facility."

"How can I trust you?"

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest and mutters, "Well, there isn't a better alternative for you at the present."

He doesn't blame the boy for being uncertain (and yes, he is still a _boy_ in Arthur's opinion, albeit a boy with an aquatic mutation). After all, Alfred really doesn't have any reason to trust him—a researcher of all people—but he and Francis are the only ones in a position to help him, and Arthur can tell that Alfred knows this well. There is both a desperate longing and crippling anxiety in the boy's eyes, but the longing ultimately wins out.

"Okay. I'll go with you."

* * *

It quickly becomes apparent to Arthur that Alfred is unfamiliar with the human lifestyle. For starters, he's never been in a car, doesn't understand the concept of stoplights, is fascinated by Arthur's cellphone, can't tell time in terms of numbers (he can only give an approximation by the location of the sun in the sky), can't read, and is terrifically frightened by the sirens of emergency vehicles.

His English, however, is very understandable and spoken with a flawless American accent.

When Arthur asks him about his extensive knowledge of the language, Alfred explains that he has been listening to people interact at Lemon Creek for many years and picked up most words simply by repeating them. It is clear that although he is supposedly half-fish, he has retained the instinctual human need for language, and thus, has soaked it in like a sea sponge.

Francis drives them back to the lab at a dangerous speed. Since Alfred can't be out of the water for too long, they have very little time to waste before they move him to a tank. By the time they reach the lab, Alfred's breathing is even worse and the jerking and spastic movements of his tail increase in tempo.

He's carried inside, and as soon as they enter the facility, they make their way for the largest aquarium of water they have available to them and toss Alfred over the edge of it. He has a comfortable bit of swimming space, but it's a tight squeeze compared to the open ocean.

"It's just temporary until we find a new area for you," Arthur insists, watching with disapproval as Alfred scratches his tail and continues his relentless spasms.

"How long am I going to be sick like this for?"

"It depends. We'll take a blood sample and find out how serious it is."

And before Alfred can ask any questions, Francis hovers over him with a needle. He grabs Alfred's unsuspecting hand and pricks the crook of his arm, barely offering a word of warning.

"Ouch! That hurt!"

"Oh, you'll be all right," Francis tuts at him, collecting a sufficient amount of blood before removing the needle. "Now, let's see what we have…"

A few drops of the blood are put on a slide under the microscope, which Francis examines intently. Then, the rest goes through a computer, which offers exact calculations and measurements of the various proteins and chemical compositions in Alfred's body.

"Look at his red blood cells."

Arthur abandons his post by the tank and nudges Francis out of the way of the microscope, narrowing his eyes. He has examined many organisms and microbes, but _this_ —this is unprecedented. At first, the little cell he's looking at seems innocent enough. It's round and plump and very much like the red blood cell of any other mammal aside from one glaring difference. The nucleus is half-stained with a dark material as one would expect to find in a frog. There is nothing else like this in existence. They could very well take this single blood sample and be ordained as the greatest scientists of their generation. With this, they could find ways to mutate the human cell—to cure diseases once thought to be completely untreatable.

Arthur steps back from the microscope and closes his eyes, the image of the peculiar cell still flashing in his mind. It would be so easy now just to turn the research over now that it's in their hands. Back when it was still just a possibility, it was easier to debate ethics, but now, with this kind of knowledge, they can't hide the lustful twinkles in their eyes.

"Hey, you guys have anything to eat around here? I'm starving!" Alfred complains, head raised above the water in the tank.

Arthur rubs a hand across his head and breaks his train of thought, looking to Alfred with newfound interest. "And what do individuals such as yourself like to eat?"

"Hmm, I could go for some sardines or anchovies. Krill if there's nothing else."

"I'll go to the fish market nearby. Francis will stay here with you while I'm gone."

"Why me?" Francis groans in frustration. "I don't know how to care for a mermaid."

"Mer _man_ ," Alfred corrects, scratching his itchy and growling belly.

Arthur cocks a brow and gives Francis a thin-lipped smile. "Consider it a bonding experience."

* * *

When Arthur returns with three large bags of fresh seafood, he's surprised to find the lab in a total state of disarray. Had a fight broken out? Was there a police raid? Had a tornado torn through the building during his short absence?

The tiled floor is flooded with a quarter of an inch of water, and somewhere in the room ahead of him, he can hear crying. At least, he thinks it's the sound of crying, until he gets closer and realizes that no, those aren't sounds of distress after all. Rather, someone is laughing—hysterically for that matter.

He finds Francis doubled over in a chair by Alfred's tank, red faced and caught in a fit of contagious giggles. Arthur spares a moment to be amused, forcing down his own smile that tingles at his lips involuntarily. He doesn't know what's supposed to be so funny about this situation, but he can't find the strength to be angry straight away.

"Look, look at this one!" Alfred suddenly shouts, smacking some chewing gum loudly before blowing a large, pink bubble the size of a small melon out of his mouth.

It makes Francis laugh even harder, and that's when Arthur decides they're having too much fun for comfort.

" _What_ is going on here?" he asks them, stern and looking very much like a mother who'd just walked in on the children getting into trouble. "Who is going to clean up this mess, I wonder? Alfred, could you kindly leave the water _in_ the tank?"

Alfred pops the giant gum bubble and grins sheepishly, tucking his shoulders closer to his bare chest. He certainly doesn't look so sick anymore. "Sorry, Arthur. I've never tried bubblegum before."

It's then that Arthur notices a big, inflatable beach ball in Alfred's tank and asks, "Who gave you that?"

"Francis found it. Look what he taught me to do!"

Alfred swings his tail back and knocks it into the ball, sending it flying forward and into Francis's arms along with a deluge of water.

That explains how the lab got flooded.

"He even showed me how to play volleyball. Wanna see?"

Before Arthur can even begin to express the numerous objections he has against the laboratory being turned into a playground, Alfred bounces the beach ball off of his tail and serves it to him, eyes glittering with the pure essence of joy. Watching Alfred interact with the world is precisely like witnessing a baby crawl for the first time, and without Arthur's permission, an immense sense of calm and happiness bursts in his gut. Denying the boy of his glee seems would be a crime, and so, Arthur raises his arms and uses the pads of his fingers to hit the ball back toward Alfred, allowing himself a smirk.

Alfred makes a delighted noise as the ball lands with a splash in the tank. "Wow!"

"See, _mon cher_? You don't need to be so bitter all of the time," Francis remarks dryly, casting a triumphant glance at Arthur. "I am a fantastic babysitter, and I was showing our good friend here how to have some fun, a skill which you have never possessed."

Rather than responding to the cheeky Frenchman and risking the potential inflation of his ego, Arthur brandishes the bags of seafood he brought with him in front of the tank, catching Alfred's attention.

"Are you still hungry?"

"Are you kidding? I could eat a whole _whale_ right about now!" Alfred shouts before Arthur dumps the assortment of fish into the water.

For a fleeting second, Alfred has the nerve to look disappointed, and his brows draw themselves together. "They're already dead? Huh… I guess they'll still taste okay though."

After that, he doesn't waste any more time complaining and simply digs in, biting into a sardine. "Mmm… That really hits the spot."

Standing around and blankly staring at Alfred eat becomes uncomfortable after a minute or so, and thus, Arthur and Francis pretend to busy themselves at the computer, talking in hushed voices as they try to ignore the sounds of slurping and chewing coming from the tank.

"He's not a pet," Arthur says lowly when he's certain Alfred can't hear them. "What are you going to do next? Teach him how to roll over and play dead?"

"Oh, lighten up. He's so innocent and carefree. Can't you just let him enjoy life on land for at least a day or two?"

"Start looking for a place where we can relocate him after he recovers from the alkalosis. Preferably, someplace where he won't draw much attention."

Francis sighs. "Why are you trying to get rid of him so quickly?"

"It may have escaped your notice, but he's a merman—a biological phenomenon—and the longer we keep him here, the greater the risk of something terrible happening becomes," Arthur snaps, all of the excitement, stress, and frustration from the entire week finally bubbling up inside him. "We need to get rid of him."

"Don't have a stroke. I'll work on coming up with a list of possible locations. I think, when the time comes, we should let the boy decide where he wants to stay. As for today, someone needs to stay here overnight and make sure he doesn't go hunting for mischief. Seeing as I've already finished one shift with him, you can do this one."

Arthur groans softly and rests his aching head on the cool metal of his desk. "When did I go from being a researcher to a nanny?"

Francis laughs maliciously at him and shrugs his shoulders before spitting Arthur's words back at him. "It won't be so bad. Like you said, 'consider it a bonding experience.'"

"Damn you."

* * *

"Hey, Arthur? Are you sleeping?"

"Yes."

"You can't be talking to me if you're sleeping."

Arthur has lost all feeling from the neck up, and no amount of caffeine seems to be effective at keeping him even semi-alert. Had he known Alfred would be this much trouble and insist on acting like a pestering seven-year-old with a million and one questions about the human condition, he would've left him back at Lemon Creek to be someone else's problem. Then, at the very least, he'd be able to get a wink of sleep.

Well, no, perhaps he still wouldn't have left him in the acid-plagued water. Nonetheless, it's a comforting thought to dream that somewhere out there, in another reality, a more sensible Arthur had enough reason to go about his business without meddling in the affairs of mermaids/mermen.

"Everything _itches_."

"I know. Try not to think about it."

"I can't!" Alfred whimpers, a shiver running up his spine as he resists the urge to scratch at a fairly large, white patch on the underside of his tail. His eyes are darker now that they've been deprived of sleep, and the two, smoldering blue saucers blink pitifully at Arthur, pleading with him. "Do something."

"It'll go away soon enough. Close your eyes and think about something that makes you happy."

Alfred nods his head and heeds the advice, smiling wistfully to himself from whatever he is imagining. "What makes you happy, Arthur?"

Surprised, Arthur raises his head from its rest on his folded arms. "I'm never happy."

Alfred laughs and gives him one of his brilliant grins. "That's impossible."

"You can ask Francis when he returns in the morning. He'll attest to it."

"I know your lying because I saw you smile before."

"When?"

"When you came back from bringing me food," Alfred reminds, staring at the dimmed lights in the ceiling. "You should do it more often."

Arthur scoffs, feigning ignorance. "Bring you food?"

"No, _smile_. If I got to live on land like you, I wouldn't be able to _stop_ smiling! You're so lucky."

"I daresay I see matters differently," Arthur murmurs, lowering his head once more.

He can feel Alfred's gaze on him until sleep claims him, and this time, the boy doesn't wake him. He wonders if it's because of something he said. Did he offend him?

He dreams of drowning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Here's the final chapter! Thanks again to the Tumblr anon who requested this idea. I hope I didn't disappoint!

* * *

"Where is it? It has to be here somewhere!"

The clattering of a keyboard and its adjoining mouse being forcefully thrown to the ground rouses Alfred, and he jolts his head up in confusion, concerned. It's morning, judging by the sunlight raining down on them from the skylight. It does seem a bit cloudy, and Alfred can't stop the momentary panic in his stomach at the thought of there being a storm.

"Arthur, what's wrong?"

"When I catch that bastard, I'm going to wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him… The conniving git."

"What's happening?"

As though just realizing Alfred is in the room with him, Arthur swings his head around to look at him with green eyes that are almost glowing with rage and frowns, casting sharp lines across his face.

"Everything will be fine," he growls after a moment, not sounding the least bit convincing. I need to take care of a quick errand, so you're going to have to entertain yourself for a while."

Alfred matches his frown. "You're leaving me here alone? What if somebody comes in or—?"

"I'll lock the door. I won't be gone long. Just please, don't get into any trouble."

He doesn't have the energy to look at Alfred before he goes. He doesn't want to see his disappointment, or worse, his disdain. He's not fond of the idea of leaving the boy to fend for himself either, but they're in a dire situation, and he doesn't have any other choice.

He needs to find Francis before he does something irreversible. The blood sample in the fridge is now missing, and the Frenchman is late for his shift, which can only mean one thing.

Why Arthur didn't notice sooner is beyond him. He should have been made aware of the missing sample last night when Francis left. He knew he should have checked to make sure it was still there, but he _trusted_ Francis, especially after seeing the way he was getting along with Alfred.

He knows now, however, that no one can be trusted. In fact, he barely trusts himself on most days.

Once he's certain the lab is secure, he gets in his car and drives toward Francis's house, not sure where else to start his search. He could be anywhere. He could've driven out of the city already and handed the blood sample over to other researchers.

All things considered, it must be fate when Arthur drives frantically down Maple Street and catches Francis driving in the opposite direction. In the course of two seconds, Arthur makes an abrupt U-turn and drives his car straight into Francis's bumper, rear-ending him and forcing him to a stop.

Heart pounding, Arthur jumps out of the car as Francis does the same, and then they're both standing in the middle of the road in a cozy residential area, glaring at one another like two bulls getting ready to butt heads.

"Are you insane? Were you trying to snap my neck?" Francis shouts at him just as the clouds draw nearer and the rumble of a thunderstorm vibrates in the distance.

"That was my goal, but unfortunately for both of us, you're still alive, you traitorous sod! What did you do with the blood sample?"

Francis bows his head morosely and shakes it. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

"You swore the both of us would keep him safe."

"Well, all of that changed once I realized I had to do my part for the greater good—for science. That is what my job is, Arthur, to use my research to better the lives of others, even if that means having to pay an ugly price."

"What gives you the right to make that kind of decision?" Arthur cries out, fingers ripping at his hair. "What has Alfred done to deserve something like this? You're exposing him to a lifetime of scrutiny and exploitation. You saw him playing with that beach ball. He's innocent, and now you want to take his innocence away from him for the off-chance that his cells will somehow link together the information we need to cure someone's Alzheimer's or cancer. There will always be disease in the world. We all must face death someday, but why put that burden on someone else? On someone who has done nothing to deserve such treatment? Who are you to decide that humanity is worth the sacrifice of another being's life?"

Francis clears his throat and looks away, just as frustrated. "And what gives you the right to decide it _isn't_ worth it?"

"Because I know what people are capable of and the horrible things they do to each other, and I know what they'll do to Alfred. He won't be allowed a moment of peace."

"I can't let you throw away all of the potential this research holds. Out of good conscience, Arthur, I can't let you hide him away forever."

"What did you do with the blood?"

Francis purses his lips and crosses his arms. "It doesn't matter. I'm doing what you don't have the courage to do."

"Courage? You call this courage?" Arthur shouts, red and flushed. "You're a coward. A man with courage would have the decency to know when to preserve something so unfettered and keep it out of the wrong hands. It takes courage to know that there are things science shouldn't have the right to meddle in."

"What if he's the only one?" Francis asks, gaining fervor. "What if he's the only damned merman in the entire ocean—one mistake in the evolutional chain of the human species—and then you set him free? What then?"

"That doesn't change anything. Whether he's the only one or one of a hundred he deserves to be free. Maybe his existence will fade into nothingness and no one will ever know. If so, it is better that way. Why expose him to the harsh realities of living inside of a lab? He isn't ours to claim, and there's some knowledge that's better left unshared and untouched," Arthur counters, hands shaking by his sides. "Please, Francis, I beg you, we've worked together for over ten years now, and if I know you as well as I think I do, I know you haven't done anything permanent yet. Don't make this decision. Don't give away the blood sample. Give Alfred the freedom to live his life just as he always has, without our intervention."

It's strange, Francis's expression suddenly becomes very solemn, and Arthur can't remember the last time the Frenchman was this serious. It is a confrontation that was inevitable from the start, and they're both afraid of making any moves.

"Please," Arthur repeats, blood rushing loudly through his ears as his heart threatens to reach its maximum capacity of beats per second.

Francis sighs, runs a hand through his own hair, and steps farther away from his car, giving Arthur access to the trunk. "Take it. It's in the cooler."

Carefully, Arthur ventures closer, not moving too quickly lest Francis feels cornered and changes his mind. He pulls open the back of the sedan and finds the blood sample within seconds, feeling an immense sense of relief and consolation come over him once it's back in his hands.

"Thank-you," he murmurs, even though part of his brain is screaming at him to attack Francis for almost jeopardizing everything. "I know it isn't easy... It never is. When I looked through that microscope the other day, I felt... I was worried I wouldn't be able to trust myself with such a great responsibility."

He doesn't know why he's opening up to Francis like this. Perhaps it's for his own benefit. He needs to acknowledge he is just as fallible. Their positions could easily have been reversed because he, too, has felt the awful temptation of wanting to bring light to things that are better left where they are in the darkness. He himself has often questioned the boundaries of science—has had to psychoanalyze everything he's ever believed in to make sure he could make a reasonable decision without doing more harm than good.

"Just hurry and get it out of here. I don't want to think about it any longer," Francis mumbles, covering his eyes with his hands in anguish.

Arthur is more than happy to oblige. He, too, wants to rid himself of this dangerous sample once and for all. He puts the small test tube into his bag and knows what he must do. He needs to get Alfred a new home, and then, he will get rid of the evidence so no one is ever given the opportunity to take advantage of it again.

"He can't stay at the lab," Francis says, as though reading his mind. "We need to move him."

"I know," Arthur readily agrees, even though there's an aching sadness hammering against his chest. "He'll be gone by tomorrow. I promise."

Francis nods his head once more, returns to his car, and drives off.

* * *

It isn't so surprising that the lab is not in the picturesque state Arthur hoped it would be in upon his return. Alfred is, thankfully, unharmed, which he supposes is the most important thing, even though the lamp on his desk has somehow been destroyed, and Alfred has managed to climb out of his tank and slide to the floor below.

"Do I want to know what you were doing?" Arthur asks him, collapsing in his desk chair after making sure the boy hasn't suffered any injuries aside from a bruise or two.

"The storm outside..." Alfred begins to explain meekly, a little embarrassed at having to admit his fears. He never musters the resolve to finish his sentence, but that's all right because Arthur doesn't pressure him to continue.

After some tugging and heaving, he manages to get Alfred back into the tank. The boy is far heavier than he looks, and he can't imagine how someone who thrives off a diet primarily made of lean fish could be so bulky.

"Thanks," Alfred gasps once he is submerged again. His gratitude, however, doesn't last very long because a clap of thunder suddenly sends a fleet of tremors through the lab, and he ducks his head instinctively and curls into a ball.

"The storm will pass soon enough," Arthur tries to reassure him, not sure how to go about being sympathetic without sounding like he's belittling the boy. More thunder tumbles through the building, and that's when an idea strikes Arthur, and he reaches for his cellphone.

He scrolls through his library of music and tries to find a fun, pleasant song to ease them both and settles on "Here Comes the Sun" by The Beatles, amused to see the look of astonishment on Alfred's face when the gentle sounds of a strumming guitar come floating out of his phone. He turns up the volume as loud as it can possibly go, cocks his head at Alfred, and sends him a soft smile.

Almost instantly, Alfred unfolds himself from his doubled-over position and blinks owlishly. He seems to struggle with how to react, until finally, he closes his striking blue eyes and bobs his head along to the easy-going rhythm, hypnotized. He doesn't stop until the song ends and the guitar fades, upon which point he seems ready to curl into himself once more.

Fortunately, Arthur puts on another song, and they manage to get through "Ob La Di, Ob La Da," "Twist and Shout," and "Dear Prudence" before Alfred beings to relax and his mind wanders far enough from the storm outside that the crackling thunder no longer sends goosebumps down his arms.

It's a travesty that the boy has never been taught to dance, and so, Arthur takes it upon himself to show Alfred how to move to the music. He thanks the universe Francis isn't around to see him demonstrate how to "twist" to "Twist and Shout" because humiliating himself for Alfred's benefit is cringe-worthy enough without any spectators.

Loathe he is to admit it, Arthur is unbelievably happy, and he can't help but allow himself a few laughs when Alfred mimics his movements from within the tank, sashaying his torso and hips from side-to-side. They are quite the sight, and Alfred is brimming with goofy grins and giggles. He gets a kick out of seeing Arthur drop his rough and gruff exterior for a brief while. Here they both are, two very strange beasts in the middle of a research lab, dancing to smooth rock n' roll while the tropical depression rages on outside.

But Arthur knows that tomorrow he will have to transport Alfred elsewhere, and the boy will be reduced to nothing but a painful memory.

The song ends, and Alfred pauses, a grateful smile still stained across his face. "I wish I could be like you. I'd go everywhere in the world and—"

"No, Alfred. Stop," Arthur suddenly snaps at him, having heard enough. "You belong in the water, and that's where you're going to stay. Sooner or later, you're going to realize that everyone is given a place in life, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Alfred's smile turns in on itself and becomes a deep-seated frown. He opens his mouth to give a bitter response, but he runs out of steam too quickly and closes it again. In the end, he settles on giving Arthur the silent treatment and turns his back to him, flicking his tail back and forth in agitation.

"I didn't—" Arthur starts to apologize, realizing his mistake. "Alfred, I just… I don't want you to be disappointed. You know you can't stay on land forever. You have to go back."

But it's no use, because Alfred isn't listening to a word he's saying anymore, and Arthur is resigned to simply sighing in frustration. He thinks that maybe Alfred will get tired of holding a grudge and will eventually grant him the opportunity to make amends, but the boy is surprisingly stubborn and hard-headed, so they manage not to say anything to each other for the remainder of the day.

By nightfall, Arthur has found the location the merman will be moved to once and for all.

* * *

Francis doesn't come into work the following morning either, and his excuse is something along the lines of, "I don't want this to be any harder than it already is," which, of course, means that the man is too much of a coward to get down to the lab to say his final goodbyes to Alfred.

And at the rate things are going, Arthur isn't so sure he's brave enough to do so either. The boy still refuses to talk to him after their conversation the other day, and the last thing Arthur wants is to end this bizarre journey with a venomous conclusion.

Fortunately, he has one last plan up his sleeve, and one last chance to make things right, or at least, as right as they can be.

Once both he and Alfred have had some breakfast (French toast and eggs from the café down the street for Arthur and whitefish for Alfred), he brings in a moderate-sized wagon from the storage room and uses it to transport Alfred out of the main wing of the research lab because he knows all-too-well how heavy the boy is, and he isn't going to make the same mistake by attempting to carry him again.

At first, Alfred thinks he's being brought out to the car, so Arthur can drive him to his new marine habitat. However, he soon notices something isn't right when Arthur takes them into an elevator and a feeling of heaviness comes upon them, signaling that they are being carried to one of the upper levels.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asks once he has gotten over the initial shock of his first elevator ride. It's the first time he has spoken in almost twenty-four hours. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see in a moment," Arthur tells him calmly, leading them down a narrow hallway and through another door.

And then, they are on the roof, but it's not just any roof. It is a roof overflowing with white stuff that Alfred doesn't recognize until Arthur scoops some in his hands and tosses it into his lap.

"Snow," Alfred murmurs, stunned. He pokes at the glistening flakes to make sure.

"Well, the closest thing to snow, anyway," Arthur explains. "It's artificially made. I couldn't exactly carry you up to Mount Everest like you wanted, but I thought that this might suffice. Do you like it?"

Forgetting all about the silent treatment, Alfred bursts into a joyous laugh and rolls out of the wagon and into the fake snow as though this is the most spectacular thing he's ever seen. "Like it? It's great! You didn't have to do all of this just for me."

"W-Well," Arthur stammers, cheeks growing uncomfortably hot. He straightens the collar of his lab coat. "After the terrible things I said yesterday, I thought this might help…"

While he's busy trying not to look like he cares about Alfred's opinion too much, he's caught off guard by a snowball being pelted in his direction, and it collides with a soft crunch against his shoulder. Irritation wells up inside him like magma because after all he's done to appease the boy, this is the thanks he gets? The brat.

Alfred has a cheeky smirk on his face, challenging him.

Challenge accepted. Arthur picks up a chunk of snow, rounds it out, and launches it at the boy's chest. It sends Alfred reeling back in shock from the cold. Even though it's the middle of the summer and the sun is beating down on their necks, they still have another hour or so until their makeshift winter wonderland melts, and after all of the work Arthur went through to set it up, he'll be damned if they don't take full advantage of it.

Shamelessly, he gets entangled in a full-blown snowball fight, dodging projectiles left and right. By the time they agree to a ceasefire, the roof is mostly covered in meltwater, and the snow is too slushy to toss back and forth.

Short of breath from the scuffle, Alfred stares out at the town from his spot on the roof, eyes shining with reverence at the clear horizon. Arthur stands beside him, following his gaze.

"Thank you," Alfred mumbles very quietly, lips barely moving. For a brief moment, he seems much older than he really is.

Then, he does something completely unexpected. He lowers his head to his lap and begins to cry gently, shoulders shuddering with emotion.

"Alfred," Arthur sighs, reaching out a hand and retracting it again upon second guessing himself.

"Thank you… _Thank_ you."

"It's nothing…"

Alfred laughs weakly and pathetically rubs at his leaking eyes. "These last few days have been the best days of my life."

"You don't say," Arthur rasps, throat tightening. It's getting late in the day, and he needs to transport Alfred out of here before the sun goes down. Everything the boy is saying now is just making things that much harder for both of them.

Enough. That'll have to be enough.

* * *

The new location is a barrier island surrounded by marvelous wetlands and gorgeous strokes of beach along the ocean's edge. It's not quite as scenic as Lemon Creek, but it's the next best thing, and the water is just as vast.

"This is it," Arthur announces with a little flourish of the hand to gesture behind him. "What do you think?"

Alfred gives the clean, sparkling crests of the ocean waves a long look and shrugs his shoulders. "I think it'll be good. It's going to take some getting used to though… Hey, is that Francis? I knew he'd be here."

Disbelieving, Arthur narrows his eyes and squints at the figure standing by the shore and frowns. It is Francis, and he's not sure if he's happy or upset that the man is here. Perhaps, it's a little of both. He didn't tell Alfred about their scuffle over the blood sample the other day, mostly because he doesn't want the boy's impression of the man to be ruined. He doesn't want to protect Francis, but he doesn't want to break Alfred's trust in him either.

"Hi, Francis!" Alfred shouts as Arthur wheels him down to the water with the help of the handy-dandy wagon. "How's it going? Where've you been lately?"

"Hello, my friend. I've been working on a new project. I'm sorry we haven't been able to speak much," Francis lies with a half-smile.

It's better like this, Arthur thinks. "Well, frog, are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?"

Alfred cheers up at their bickering, and without further ado, Francis leans over and helps Arthur lift him out of the wagon and into the water, taking a deep breath of the crisp breeze.

"I guess this is it then," Alfred mutters.

"I guess so," Arthur agrees before gathering the courage to put a hand on the boy's head. "Be careful out there, okay?"

"Will you guys come and see me once in a while?"

Arthur shakes his head and his voice cracks as he says, "It would be too dangerous."

"Please?"

"We _can't_ ," Arthur insists, covering his eyes with a hand so he doesn't have to look at the boy's crestfallen expression for too long.

"But I thought we were friends."

"We are."

"So why can't—?"

This time, Francis cuts in with a more genuine smile. "Alfred, I will personally see to it that Arthur comes to see you at least once a week."

"Yay!" Alfred cheers.

"Wait, I didn't agree to—"

Francis stops Arthur by putting a firm hand on his shoulder and tells Alfred, "He doesn't know what's good for him sometimes. He'll come. Don't worry."

And as much as Arthur wants to argue that this is a horrible idea and that he would be endangering Alfred by doing such a thing, he can't say a word once he sees the joy beaming on the merman's face. A few trips every now and then wouldn't hurt, surely?

"One more thing before you guys go," Alfred requests. "Could I get a hug?"

Damn it. Why does he have to make this even more sentimental?

Begrudgingly, Arthur steps forward to initiate the group hug and Francis joins in. Alfred squeezes the two of them for a long time, and when he finally lets go, there's a feeling of loss in each of their stomachs that they can't quite quench.

"Goodbye, Francis."

"Goodbye, dear Alfred."

"Bye, Arthur. I'll see you soon, okay? Can you play some more music next time?"

Arthur downs the rock in his throat and nods. "Whatever you'd like. Goodbye, Alfred. Until next time."

Alfred returns the nod and lets out a deep sigh, shoulders hunched. He turns away, makes a movement to swim away, but then stops midway to splash Arthur with a torrent of saltwater one last time.

" _Alfred_!"

"See ya soon!"

Francis pushes down a laugh and leads Arthur away, one hand on his back. Slowly, they make the trek to the pier. "You were right. About everything. I'm sorry."

"I'm always right," Arthur huffs, looking away to hide the tears in his eyes.

"Oh, don't tell me you're _crying_. You? Arthur Kirkland? I never thought I'd witness this."

"Shut up. You're buying lunch today."

"Anything for you, _mon cher_. You know that."

And before the men make it any farther, Arthur takes the blood sample out of his bag and tosses it against the rocks poking out of the ocean, shattering the glass and letting the water wash it away.

Fortunately, the Frenchman doesn't comment on the tiny hitches of breath escaping Arthur on the drive back to the lab, nor the way he drags his feet and mopes for the rest of the day, _nor_ how he drives back to the barrier island three days later to see the boy again.

It's the one secret he is willing to let the man keep, and it's a secret that's forever theirs.


End file.
